Coming back from Paris. A beautiful weekend spent in Burgundy tasting wine and driving through the small villages of France. Perfect — except without Mike who would have loved it. Makes me think of traveling with him for the rest of our lives — getting to — married. Sometimes it still doesn’t seem real, the word, married, the word husband.

On our way back from our anniversary trip to the Santa Ynez Valley — our weekend of wine tasting. It was a good trip. Tasted a lot of wine, bought quite a lot too. Went to some new vineyards that I really liked a lot. Basically all we did was eat and drink wine, but it was fabulous.Continue reading →

A lucky day unlucky for me. I left my new trench coat that I bought in NYC on my first flight. I didn’t realize it until three hours later when I was boarding my flight to Shannon — and by then it was too late. I’m such an idiot. I told the flight attendant and he reported it then gave me a number to call for the lost and found at O’Hare. They will call me (or Mike) if they find it.

Cork (Victoria Lodge) — Well we’re here, and everyone’s jet lagged and cranky. Spent the morning waiting around the airport and the afternoon walking around Cork. Things here are not as we expected — the lodging isn’t as nice and we can’t use phone cards and and — just things to bitch about I guess.

It’s easy to think of death when you’re so close to the edge already. On the cliffs at Dún Aengus (or Dún Aonghasa in Gaelic), only inches separate life from death. There are no warning signs here—no railings, no fences, no American watchdogs telling you to stand back. Visitors sit as close to the brink as they want, and those who are not afraid of heights—or falls—take advantage of the near-death-like experience of being so-close. (If you want proof, check out #aranislands on Instagram.)